All Shots

She had not been an admirable person, but she had loved a dog, a malamute, a member of my own breed. Therefore, she had redeemed herself.
    And the living Holly? The other ? Eager to welcome Steve home, I took Rowdy, Kimi, and Sammy out to the yard. I’d intended to spend the time planning how to tell Steve about everything that had happened in his absence. I’d thought about telling him on the phone, but I’d decided to wait for his return. As it was, as Rowdy, Kimi, Sammy, and I awaited the man we loved, I found myself diverted by the sudden recollection of my image of Holly Winter as a person trapped on a narrow rock ledge, a person inaccessible and paralyzed by fear. And I finally understood who she was and, in a new way, who I am. She was who I might have become if it weren’t for my special need. Yes, there but for the grace of dogs was this Holly Winter.
    The dogs recognized the sound of the car before I even heard the engine, and by the time I was unlocking the gate to the driveway, the air was ringing with Rowdy’s basso profundo, Sammy’s alto, and Kimi’s spine-tingling contralto. I slipped out, closed the gate, and heard Lady’s excited whines and India’s big-girl woofs. Steve was tan and bug-bitten and infinitely desirable. He was wonderfully mine. He surrounded me with his arms and his warmth, and I buried my head in his chest.
    Over the caroling of the dogs, he said, “You look beautiful. I’ve missed you so much. Is everything okay?”
    “Everything is fine. Except... there was a slight, uh, accident involving your van.”
    He laughed. “How slight?”
    “Not very. Rowdy went through that rear window that’s been rattling.”
    “What was he doing loose in the van?”
    “It’s a long story,” I said. “I’ll tell you all about it.
    And now I have.